The First Cut is the Deepest
by Vivi Dahlin
Summary: Olivia has wanted to hear the story of Amanda's first sexual experience for a very long time. During an intimate moment, she gathers the courage to ask, but soon finds she might not like the answer. When the tables are turned, Amanda is even less impressed by her captain's unexpected disclosure. They say the first cut is the deepest, and a simple conversation can change everything.
1. Knots

**A/N:** I've had this story in mind since I wrote the Truth or Dare chapter of _Idle Hands_. Just took me a while to flesh it out. And once I got started, I couldn't stop. So, welcome to another accidental 15k+ word fic, my dears. I've split it up into chapters again, for easier consumption and posting. This one will be 4-ish chapters (the final one is more of an epilogue). I only intended two at first, so if the stopping points seem a bit abrupt, that's why. Lots of trigger warnings here... **TW** Graphic descriptions of sexual assault/rape, including statutory rape; underage sex; allusions to child abuse; and would it really be a Rolivia fic without a strong dose of unhealthy coping mechanisms? **/TW** Be prepared for some mild & symbolic smut and more angst than you can shake a stick at. I've found at least four hints at things to come in the long fic hidden within this story (yes, found, b/c I wrote them and promptly forgot about them, lol). Just FYI. Thank you to Amy for the beta'ing and for the free therapy that got me to a place where I could write this.

* * *

**Chapter 1: **Knots

**. . .**

The knots were so tough, Olivia had to use most of her strength to loosen them. She plied diligently with her thumbs, moving them outward in widening circles over each hard spot she found, her other fingers clenching and unclenching around muscle. She was quite good with her hands, or so she had been told by the half-dozen people on whom she'd performed this service. Of those six, she had mostly been clothed with three of them, had sat—like this—straddling the waist of two others, and only one had moaned as vocally as Amanda did now. That last was Elliot Stabler, but they had both been fully dressed and neither of them were straddling any body parts at the time.

"Jesus, you're tight," Olivia said, leaning into Amanda's shoulder blade with her fingertips, working at the flesh until she met angular, prominent bone. Once again, she caught herself admiring the woman's delicate bone structure, her ivory skin and the way it rippled and smoothed at a touch, ebbing and flowing like the tide. Amanda's body was the ocean, Olivia's hands the moonlight, exerting their eternal pull.

"Bet you say that to all the hot blondes you give full-body massages to," Amanda replied, barely audible from inside the headrest she had formed with her folded arms, face down against the mattress. Her messy braids were splayed apart, one over each shoulder, the wispy hairs that had escaped clinging to the back of her neck like gossamer threads.

She actually knew how to weave a fairly intricate plait ("I had to learn _something_ during all those middle school detentions," she said, when Olivia remarked on the Heidi braids that had spontaneously appeared in their daughters' hair that morning), and these were double-sided French braids that her fine tresses couldn't quite hold in place. When she had fashioned Olivia's hair into an elegant waterfall braid—the thick, dark strands of which held fast, even now, in the afterglow—she'd spent the entire time grumbling about some people having more hair than they knew what to do with, and why couldn't they share it with the rest of the folks who weren't as fortunate?

Olivia had responded by pulling Amanda in by those cute little Swiss Miss braids and planting a hearty kiss on her grumpy lips. That took care of the complaining, and when Olivia spent the next half-hour applying her mouth to various parts of Amanda's person, the only thing coming from the blonde's lips were long, sensual moans and colorful expletives. She came three times, practically one after the other, and promptly fell asleep with her head cushioned on Olivia's breasts.

Not getting a turn hadn't bothered Olivia; her detective deserved to be the center of attention once in awhile. Her trauma and its long-lasting, far-reaching repercussions had taken up too much of their time lately, and she was beginning to fear it would overshadow the relationship entirely if she didn't get it under control. (She was seeing Dr. Lindstrom again. The only constant man in her life, it would seem.)

Tonight was all about Amanda Jo. No roles to play, no costumes or props. Just the two of them, their bodies stripped bare and given freely to each other, for whatever purpose deemed fit. And when Amanda woke with a kink in her neck another half-hour later, Olivia had deemed the deep massage absolutely necessary.

The part about being stripped bare wasn't exactly true, either. Amanda was indeed naked from head to toe, but when the kissing and caressing first took a more heated, intimate turn, she'd been wearing the most darling lingerie set Olivia had ever seen: a black satin fitted camisole that ended just below the rib cage, ruching at the sides and bust, and a pair of the tiniest shorts imaginable, with scalloped lace trim around the thighs and waist.

Her initial reaction was laughter because her own lingerie matched the ensemble, as if she had coordinated their undergarments beforehand—sheer black nylon bra and panties, with floral embroidery at the breast, hips and backside. They left nothing to the imagination, but she'd kept them on while she made love to Amanda. A floor-length tulle robe with chantilly lace detailing and a silk sash hung from the bedpost. It was the only article of clothing Olivia had removed thus far. From herself, anyway. She'd reveled in divesting Amanda of every inch of the satin almost as much as she enjoyed ogling her in it.

Now, gazing down at Amanda's well-toned back, the delicate hint of muscle, the tiny mountain range of her spine, and oh those lovely dimples, Olivia couldn't help getting lost in her partner's beauty. And that was just from behind. The front was even better.

She smiled to herself at the thought and went on kneading in between and around Amanda's shoulder blades. Perhaps it was the rotating motion that got the wheels in her head turning, but after a moment she began to wonder about some things. Nothing she hadn't already wondered about before, although the silence, interrupted by an occasional sigh or throaty rumble of pleasure, only brought it to the forefront and increased her curiosity. Amanda was more open to talking after sex, and she was even further receptive to a little prying while in a massage-induced stupor. Olivia could probably have found out anything she wanted to know just then, but decided to start small. She wouldn't abuse her position—the physical one or the girlfriend one—and risk making Amanda feel trapped into answering.

"Tell me about your first time," she ventured lightly, rubbing the heel of her palm into an especially stubborn knot at the nape of Amanda's neck. The poor thing was more tangled up than a strand of Christmas lights just out of storage. Olivia made a mental note to find her detective a real masseuse and to figure out the source of all that pent-up stress.

She half expected Amanda to feign ignorance and ask which first time. Braiding her own hair? Making a perp cry like a baby, as she had earlier that afternoon? Getting a massage from a scantily clad woman who sat astride her middle (and whose arousal was probably detectable at the small of her back)?

But after a brief pause, Amanda turned her face aside to peer over one shoulder, gazing askance at Olivia, and stated with slight amusement, "Well, that came smack-dab right outta nowhere."

Olivia grinned at the expression and the deep twang in which it was delivered. Never in a million years would she have believed a Southern accent could be a turn on, but Detective Rollins lived to prove her wrong. "Sorry. It's just something I've been wondering about. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

"This is because of Daphne and all that 'V-card' malarkey, idn't it?"

Sharp. As. A. Tack. Olivia was pretty sure she would have been curious with or without their salacious friend's input, but the topic did tend to arise most frequently when Daphne was around. The clerk had a vested interest in her Mandy Lou's love life, and Olivia couldn't blame her. "Maybe a little."

Amanda reached back and patted Olivia's thigh, indicating she needed room to roll over. When granted, she flipped onto her backside and took Olivia by the hips, tugging her firmly into place before she could abandon the post on top. Amanda slid both hands farther down and cuffed her on the ass, groping. "I'm gonna kick that little pipsqueak's bee-hind next time I see it."

That was how she said it: _bee-hind_. Olivia gave her hair an unnecessary toss, only for it to tumble over her shoulder as she inclined her head towards Amanda with a playfully scolding look. She was fully aware of the effect she was having—Amanda's pupils were three times their normal size—just as she was aware of the effect the blonde had on her. Her body was on fire as she gazed down at those perfect, pert little breasts. And when her palms glided over them, resuming the massage, it required all her willpower to stay focused on the conversation and not lean down to take one of the dainty rosebud nipples in her mouth.

"You will not," she said fondly, smoothing her hands over Amanda's chest in lazy, aimless strokes. She rolled her hips, pressing her rear end into the tight grip Amanda still had on it. "And the only _bee_-hind I catch you looking at had better be mine."

"Jealous?" Amanda teased, doing a little massaging of her own. She hissed like a hot griddle at the tweak she received, even though Olivia's fingers barely closed on the nipple. Her entire upper body flushed the color of pink saltwater taffy.

God, Olivia could just eat her up.

"Of Daphne?" She crinkled her nose and gave another exaggerated swish of her hair. It fell to the middle of her upper arm these days and felt rather luxurious when she shook it around her bare shoulders like that. Plus, Amanda looked at it as if she were on the verge of another five or six rapid-fire orgasms. "Not hardly. She's cute and all, but she's built like a twelve-year-old. I guess if that's what you're into . . . "

"Uh, no, ma'am." Amanda confirmed the response by trailing her gaze and her touch reverently along each and every one of Olivia's bountiful curves. No grabbing or squeezing, just appreciating. Olivia was beginning to think they had strayed too far off topic and too deep into erogenous zones for her question to be answered, until Amanda added, "But speaking of twelve-year-olds . . ."

"Oh my God," Olivia said, gaping in horror. She'd actually felt her stomach drop at the realization of where Amanda was going with that comment. "Oh, honey, please don't tell me you were twelve when you lost your virginity."

Amanda toyed with Olivia's bra strap, inching it off one shoulder to dangle loosely against that arm. She repeated the action on the other side and observed the results with clear satisfaction, a sultry little smirk on her lips. "Nah, I wasn't."

"Thank God."

"_He_ was twelve. I's thirteen." Amanda grazed her fingers back and forth across Olivia's cleavage with the graceful, swaying gesture of a conductor before an orchestra. One of the lighter, airier sections, perhaps—the woodwinds or the strings. She hesitated mid-stroke when she noticed Olivia's dismay. "What? It was consensual. And actually . . . I initiated it, so."

Olivia hadn't heard a word after "twelve" and "thirteen." Her jaw worked uselessly for a moment, lips failing to produce a sound. When she did speak, she could only sputter, "Thirteen. Thirteen?" in a series of disbelieving pitches and inflections. "Th-thirteen."

"Aw, baby, did I break ya?" Amanda asked in an amused tone, pretending to peer into Olivia's eyes to see if there was still a functioning brain behind them. "You sure you wanna hear this?"

The main reason Olivia couldn't stop repeating "thirteen" was because it had occurred to her that Noah would be the same age in five more years. He would be twelve in a year less than that. After such a frightening revelation, she wasn't convinced she _did_ want to hear the rest. But she had asked for it, and Amanda was talking. She'd been listening to stories like this for over twenty years, she knew how to remain stoic. (But Jesus, _thirteen_?)

Clearing her throat softly, Olivia tossed her hair again, this time to dispel the unpleasant thoughts swirling around in her brain. If it had the added benefit of turning Amanda on, then so be it.

"Yes," she said resolutely, trying not to imagine the pictures she'd seen of the blonde as a young teen. Skinny as a rail, worn-out cowboy boots up to her knobby knees, a golden dusting of downy hair on her spindly little arms, and that head of white dandelion fluff. She didn't even have breasts yet. (Thir_teen_?!) "Go on. He was—" Olivia gulped. "—twelve. You were . . . older."

"Yeah, Daughtry Boatwright. Helluva name, huh?" Amanda traced lazy, meandering lines up and down Olivia's sides with her fingertips, occasionally traveling higher or lower as the spirit moved her. "He was a grade behind me, but all the middle school girls were in love with him. And the elementary girls, for that matter. Kim was so pissed when I asked him to the spring dance and he said yes. Still thinks I stole him from 'er."

That sounded like Amanda's sister, all right. Olivia didn't know the young woman very well, but she had learned one thing for certain in the short amount of time they interacted with each other—Kim Rollins was so jealous of her older sister she couldn't even see straight. Amanda didn't sound the least bit bothered by it now; in fact, she had rolled her eyes and snickered at the mention of Kim's resentment. Olivia offered a sympathetic touch anyway, smoothing her palms across the detective's collar bone and pinching lightly at the slopes of flesh on either side. She kept it up when Amanda hummed contentedly.

"Wasn't she, like, nine back then?" Olivia asked, to show she was listening and to help coax the story along.

"I think she'd just turned ten, but yeah. She wanted him real bad. Used to prance around in her little sundresses whenever he came over to study. She'd stand there, fiddling with the straps and hoping he'd look at her." Thoughtfully, Amanda plucked at one of the lax bra straps on Olivia's arm, but let it fall back into place without any real attempt at removal. "Think he mighta once or twice."

The statement was vague enough to be just an afterthought, but the lack of emotion behind it troubled Olivia. She studied Amanda's face for a clue as to what she felt, and found only lovely porcelain features and eyes of endless ocean blue.

"She wasn't already having sex by then, was she?" Olivia asked as delicately as possible, careful not to sound judgmental or appalled. No matter how casual Amanda's attitude towards sex, she had still cared enough about others' opinions to get her own name tattooed on her arm as a reminder. As proof she wasn't the slut they made her out to be. She didn't need Olivia gasping and cringing over her story like a scandalized old lady, even if it was over her younger sister.

Amanda's gaze snapped up to meet Olivia's a little too fast, the irises a bit stormier than they had been a second ago, but she shrugged the question off quickly and the sudden tightness in her muscles dissipated. "Nah. Well, not that I know of anyway." And a moment later, with the same dispassion as before, she added, "Started up not long after that, though."

Realizing her hands had stopped moving at the same time she began holding her breath, Olivia exhaled and resumed rubbing absently at Amanda's shoulders. She massaged her way down one long, slender arm—the downy hair there still shone gold in the light—and then the other, lost deep in thought. Early sexual behavior was often a sign that a child had been molested. Maybe that wasn't the case here, but a sexually active preteen did not sit right with Olivia, whether it was Kim Rollins or otherwise.

"Penny for your thoughts, Cap'n," Amanda said, a knowing glint in her eye. She didn't sound defensive though, and that was encouraging. She hadn't exactly become an open book since their disastrous encounter at the hotel—Olivia was convinced, at the time, that her own recklessness and stupidity had destroyed their relationship completely—but she did seem to be trying. Now, for instance, she visibly prepared herself for the question and invited: "Shoot."

Olivia swept Amanda's bangs aside with her fingertip, even though they weren't in the way. She stroked the soft, pale cheek a few inches below with the backs of her fingers. "Was someone abusing her?" Giving it a second thought, she gently amended, "Either of you?"

Face turned just so, Amanda waited for Olivia's hand to approach again, then pecked it swiftly on the passing palm. "Me? Nah, I was too feral and unpredictable. They woulda had too much fight on their hands if they'd gone after me, and they knew it."

_They_. The generic pronoun made Olivia shudder, for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on. She found she didn't want to try. And Amanda was probably right—predators looked for easy targets, ones they could control and frighten into silence. A wild-card like little Mandy Rollins would have scared most child molesters away.

(Most.)

"But Kim? I'm, uh— I'm not sure. I've kinda always wondered." Amanda's brow furrowed despite the soothing touches Olivia continued administering, despite her own hands traversing Olivia's middle. She lingered on a stretch of tummy, grazing idly. "I don't think so. Nah, I mean . . . Nah, Kim can't keep a secret to save her life. She would've told me something like that."

It made Olivia's heart ache to hear Amanda struggling to convince herself. Knowing someone else had been abused on your watch was the worst kind of hell. Some days, Olivia had hope she might get past the horrors visited upon her mind and body by her attackers, but she would never forget sitting by—uselessly, helplessly—while Mrs. Mayer was raped and tortured in front of her, while Tess Crivello cried and screamed in the next room as her innocence was torn away with a violent thrust. Olivia had at least been equipped to deal with her assaults; she was armed at the start of two of them, for God's sake, and she knew how rapists thought, what motivated them to commit such atrocities. She understood the nature of rape and should be able to make more sense of it than an old woman or a teenage girl possibly could, right?

Right?

If Amanda felt even a little bit of that self-blame, Olivia wanted to ease it. She wanted to take it away like the knots she had unraveled in Amanda's body, so beautiful and vibrant beneath her attentive hands.

"It's not your fault if she was," Olivia said, with as much weight as she dared. They were navigating dangerous territory, and she didn't care to set off any more explosives this soon after the blowup at the hotel. But it needed to be said. "You were a child, Amanda. It wasn't your responsibility to protect her. Or your mother."

Through a thin, unconvincing smile, Amanda agreed. "Yeah."

Perhaps it wasn't much, but the fact that she didn't throw a wall up around her emotions, didn't lash out on impulse, was progress.

Very brief, very fleeting progress.

"Anyway. Back to Daughtry." Amanda delivered a brisk clap to Olivia's thighs, signaling the end of the darker turn their conversation had taken. Loud and abrupt, but not painful. She chafed at the skin anyway, warming it with her palms. "So, I asked him to the dance. He had an older brother in high school. Kid by the name of Memphis. I dated him a few years later. He had this tricked out van with Led Zeppelin album covers airbrushed on the sides. You know _Houses of the Holy_, with all the naked blond kids? And the fallen angel logo thing?"

Olivia nodded along. She had listened to some Led Zeppelin in her day. Some of it had been an act of rebellion against her mother, who considered most rock music insipid noise, but Olivia did like a lot of their songs, especially "Black Dog" and the quintessential "Stairway to Heaven." She knew the artwork Amanda spoke of, and she schooled her features in preparation for whatever the shady van and the older brother had to do with this part of the story.

"Those were on there. And it had the little bubble windows in the back. Cheesy as hell, but I thought it was so cool at the time." Amanda shook her head, bemused at her own poor taste. "Memphis dropped us off at the dance in it. Told us he'd park it in the empty lot behind the school so we could use it 'for whatever.'"

"Oh, God," Olivia said, catching herself at the last second and biting down on her lip. She counted at least three offenses in that description alone, not to mention facilitating sex between minors, if this went where she suspected it was going. Memphis was well into his forties by now, but Olivia would still like to slap some sense into him. And who the hell named their kid Memphis when they lived in Georgia, anyhow?

"Yeah, he wasn't really firing on all cylinders, that guy," Amanda said, as if she'd read Olivia's entire thought process all over her face. And, knowing Amanda, she probably had. "He smoked a lotta pot. The older kids used his van for that, and to hook up in. It was so scuzzy back there, oh my Lord. But Daughtry 'n me thought we were hot shit gettin' to hang out in it. Ended up ditching the dance early to go make out."

_And here we go_. Olivia managed to contain most of her distaste, but she had to check: "Please tell me the older brother was gone by then."

Amanda chuckled at the wary tone and reached up to tweak fondly at Olivia's scrunched nose. "Yeah, darlin', we had the van to ourselves. Memphis was off chasin' poon with the eighth-grade girls who got held back a year."

"Charming."

"Them Boatwright boys were all about the charm, yes ma'am." Amanda flashed a bit of dimple, making it nearly impossible to be put off by the suggestive thrust of her hips that punctuated the sentence. The Boatwright boys weren't the only ones who knew how to turn on the charm. "Daughtry was actually pretty sweet. Kinda shy. I think I scared him a little."

"Now, that," Olivia said, quirking her eyebrow and leaning forward, a hand pressed into the pillow at either side of Amanda's head, tauntingly close but lingering back just enough that their lips didn't meet. "That, I can absolutely believe."

Hunger, as stark as lightning against primal, artless blue, flickered behind Amanda's eyes. She literally licked her lips in anticipation. And when her fingers glided into the hair at the back of Olivia's head, palm cupped around her skull, pulling her down those final few inches, the kiss that resulted was electric. It lasted so long, so deep, Olivia almost forgot what they had been discussing beforehand. Something about a van and naked blond children . . .

"Bet you those ol' Boatwright boys never kissed you like that, did they?" Olivia husked when they parted, easing back to swipe at their lips and catch their breath.

Wearing a huge, giddy grin, so pink it looked like she had applied lipstick while riding in the back of a bumpy pickup, Amanda shook her head firmly from side to side. "Huh-uh. Always thought us Southern gals knew a thing or two about smoochin', but ain't nobody ever kissed me like you do, city girl."

The accent had cranked up a notch to suit the poor grammar, and Olivia found herself utterly beguiled by it, as she was every time Amanda affected her laziest drawl. The ornery little shit knew it, too.

"Good answer." Olivia rewarded her detective with another slow, searching kiss, then sat back on her haunches. She lowered herself onto Amanda's pelvis with excessive care and some naughty, unnecessary grinding. (Detective Rollins wasn't the only ornery little shit present.)

A groan equal parts agony and ecstasy followed the provocative movement, and Amanda clamped both hands to Olivia's hips, her fingernails just biting in, like a dog that applied its teeth as a warning before ripping off the arm. You're asking for it, lady. Try me.

She _was_ asking for it, but backing off would drive Amanda even more wild—and that was the fun part. Besides, Olivia wanted to hear the end of the story. She scooted a bit higher, settling her weight against Amanda's abdomen instead of the more sensitive areas below. "So, you're in the back of this sleazy mobile sex pad, about to deflower a twelve-year-old. And then . . . ?"

Huffing in frustration, Amanda tried to squirm into the same position she had been in before Olivia moved, but she succeeded only it tiring herself out. Her small breasts jounced with the effort, the nipples as hard and pink as jewels, like the most exquisite of rubies. The rest of her was rose quartz, a color so delicate it belied the strength underneath; except for the lips—her lips were morganite, the soft peachy-pink stone that sparkled more brilliantly than diamonds.

A rare and precious gem, that was Amanda Rollins.

"Sex pad?" she asked, with a snort of laughter that should have come from a much larger, much more masculine frame than the one hundred and twenty-five pounds of blonde Olivia sat upon. It rocked them slightly, the subtle bouncing beneath Olivia releasing a flock of butterflies in her belly. "Calm down, nineteen-seventies playboy Burt Reynolds. Your pornstache is showing."

Had Olivia said rare and precious? She meant roguish smartass. And to be honest, that was even sexier. She palmed Amanda's breasts, savoring the gentle weight of them in her hands, lavishing them with the deep, abiding affection she felt every time she gazed at her sassy little detective. "Please, my love," she said in a velvety, cajoling tone. She didn't like to beg and play the pouty girlfriend, but if it got the job done, she could humble herself from time to time. Mainly because it put such a wicked smirk on Amanda's face when she did it. "I want to hear the rest."

"Better tuck that thing in before you trip over it." Amanda strummed Olivia's bottom lip, which jutted forward just a smidge, with the side of her forefinger. She grazed the pad of her thumb over the same spot right after. "And sorry to disappoint, but there's not a whole lot more to tell. One thing led to another, I asked him if he wanted to 'do it' and he said yes. So we did. Lasted about thirty seconds, I reckon. He got off, I didn't. He fell in love, I didn't. We went back to the dance, and by the next week, I had a different boyfriend."

Anticlimactic in every sense of the word, the ending took Olivia by surprise and she blinked rapidly for a moment, processing the information. Teenagers were impulsive, she knew that. They fell in and out of love about as often as most people changed socks, and engaging in risky sexual behavior was par for the course. (_Thirteen!_) But Olivia's junior and high school experience had been a world apart from the one Amanda had just described, and she needed a minute. "Wow," was all she could think to say.

"Yeah, pro'ly why I ended up being the Whore of Walton County from freshman to senior year." Amanda was smiling, her hands suddenly roving Olivia's body with more persistence than they had thus far. She crooked a finger around the waistband of Olivia's panties, trailing it idly back and forth, like a child awaiting permission to grab up a coveted toy.

**. . .**


	2. Nots

**A/N: **Decided to post chapter 2 before the show slaps us upside the feels with "The Longest Night of _Pain_" tomorrow. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed CH 1. Y'all seriously make my day. Trigger warnings still apply for this chapter. Smut & angst ahead. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2:** Nots

**. . .**

Gingerly, Olivia scooped both of Amanda's hands into her own and interlocked their fingers. She guided them back lightly, careful not to press either hand against the bed, instead letting both linger in Amanda's eyeline, an easy balance struck between their joined grasps. Neither overpowering the other. "That is not what I meant," she said, her voice soft but deliberate. "Do I think thirteen is too young to be having sex? God, yes. But I'm glad it was _your_ decision and that you felt confident enough to make it. When I was thirteen, I couldn't even say S-E-X without blushing. I was . . . painfully naïve. And afraid."

"Afraid?" Amanda swayed her arms to and fro, their clasped hands bobbing with the languid motion of water lilies on the surface of a flowing pond. She brought the back of Olivia's right hand over for a kiss, then did the same on the left.

"Well, my mother never gave me 'the talk' or had anything positive to say about sex. She espoused sexual freedom and equality, and God knows she slept with whomever she pleased—" Olivia heard the bitterness seeping into her tone, and she stopped short, taking a deep breath before allowing herself to continue. "But sex was against the rules for me. And you know what a stickler I am for the rules."

"Oh Lordy, do I ever." Amanda snuck in a cute wink, worming her way right out of that one.

"Uh-huh. Well, I was even worse back then. I thought if I did everything by the book, she would . . . " _Lay off the booze. Stop hurting me. Love me._ None of those sounded right, though each one was true. Olivia let the conclusion fade, not wanting to bring down the mood any more than she already had. Amanda got the gist anyway, her blonde head nodding sympathetically on the pillow. "And according to her, sex was painful and scary and men only wanted to do awful things to me. So, it took me a little longer to catch on."

"How old were ya?" Amanda asked, easing out of Olivia's grasp a finger at a time. She propped herself in an upright position and patted Olivia low on the hip, where her panties arced highest, and signaled for her to dismount.

"Sixteen. What're you doing?" Reluctantly, Olivia shifted her weight to one side, giving Amanda room to escape. She sat back on her heels, enjoying the sight in front of her too much to be very disappointed. Stark-naked, Amanda was crawling around on all fours, oblivious to the sylphlike figure she cut in her luminous natural state. Her teeny-tiny rear was as pale as milk. Olivia reached out and pinched it.

Had to be done.

**. . .**

"Hey!" Amanda yelped, jerking her buttocks in and swatting at the hand behind her, which was long gone. She turned to fix Olivia with a playful glower, though the pinch hadn't hurt. Much. It was more eye-opening than painful.

Speaking of eye-opening. The captain was seated on her heels, hands innocently clasped around her knees. She was already spilling out of the bra cups, thanks to Amanda's earlier trick with the straps, but her tits were pushed forward even farther by the arms positioned at each side. It might have been a felicitous accident, but the seductive little grin on Olivia's lips made Amanda think not. Her nipples were clearly visible, tinted black by the sheer material of the cups. Her abundant dark hair was tousled and falling into her dark, dark eyes. And that grin.

Good Lord, this woman was going to be the death of Amanda. But what a way to go.

"Your turn," she said, twirling her finger in the air, indicating Olivia should literally turn, lie back, get comfy.

"Don't wave that finger at me unless you're prepared to use it, Detective," Olivia purred, but obeyed the command, crawling towards the pillow with sinuous, pantherlike movements. Her ass, full and accentuated by the skimpy see-through panties—so snug on her curves, the black roses looked tattooed on her perfect olive skin—just begged to be touched.

Far be it from Amanda not to give her captain what she wanted.

"Baby, I'm always prepared." Amanda caught Olivia by the hips, holding her in place and admiring the view with a decadent sigh. "I'm practically a goddamn Boy Scout," she said, her hands roaming the gauzy lingerie, the sumptuous flesh underneath.

"I hope not," Olivia said wryly, smirking over her shoulder at Amanda's exposed and hyperalert breasts. Eyelids growing heavy, she rolled her head forward and hummed luxuriously, her long hair spilling across the pillow like expensive, fragrant oil poured from an alabaster jar, when Amanda's palm grazed between her legs.

"Like that?" Amanda knew the answer full well, felt it warm and wet against her fingertips, but she wanted to hear Olivia say it. She loved the sexy sounds the captain made when she was turned on—for someone without a musical bone in her body, she could be downright symphonic upon climax—and after their recent role-playing misfire that had almost ended in casualties, Amanda was more vigilant than ever about securing affirmative consent.

"Uh-huh." Olivia rocked back against Amanda's hand, requesting more than a light touch. Demanding it, actually, her fingers pressed to the backs of Amanda's fingers, creating a firm and steady friction.

"Want more?" With her free hand, Amanda traced a fingertip just along the thigh of Olivia's underwear, delighted to see the goosebumps it raised from head to toe. Not to worry, she'd warm her captain up right quick.

Olivia twitched her rear-end from side to side, more feline than ever as she sought deeper, more intimate contact. She was practically purring. "Mmm."

The sound hit Amanda right in the groin, but after a moment she withdrew from her captain's grasp, despite an indignant huff. "Huh-uh," she said, and smoothed her palms deliberately along Olivia's ass, then gave one cheek a quick, well-placed smack. (Really, it was a hard pat, though it sounded impressive and definitely caught Olivia's attention.) "You have to ask me nicely. Try again."

She was pushing it a little, with the dominatrix routine, but she had never been one to stay gun-shy for long. No one's wrists were tied this time and they were in the safety of their own bedroom. They had casually toyed around as Dom/sub a couple of times as well, both enjoying it immensely. Or at least appearing to. And if they were going to make the sex games work, they had to trust each other to speak up if something didn't feel right. That trust had been deeply shaken by their foolhardy attempt at bondage, but not altogether broken. Olivia was trying to be more upfront about her own needs; Amanda was extra attentive if the situation felt off in the least—and the safeword was still "church."

Nothing about this felt wrong, and Olivia looked anything but uncomfortable when she glanced back, cocking an eyebrow at Amanda's reprimand. In fact, she looked pretty damn amused, a barely suppressed grin teasing at her lips. Worst submissive ever. (But also the cutest.)

"Please," she said with desire so open and earnest, Amanda's breath caught. She was pouting again and it was simultaneously the most adorable and the sexiest thing Amanda had ever seen. "I want some more. _Master_."

The inflection was straight out of _I Dream of Jeannie_, and she even batted her eyelashes a few times. Barbara Eden and her gyrating midriff had nothing on Captain Benson.

"That's better," Amanda said, trying to sound as unaffected as possible. She might have succeeded if her voice wasn't so raspy. Clearing her throat a bit primly, she started to reach for the nightstand drawer and the new dildo that currently resided there. The old vibrator had seen its day, the speed adjuster not quite packing the same punch that it once did. Its replacement, which Amanda had dubbed Rizzo because of its hot pink coloring, was far more robust and reliable. Olivia came in about five seconds flat the last time they had used it.

But before Amanda could get the drawer open, Olivia took her by the wrist, brought her hand up, and lightly kissed two of the fingertips. "Just you," she requested, guiding Amanda's hand to her inner thigh by the ring finger. "Please."

_So much for being the Dom_, Amanda thought. She was clearly Olivia Benson's little bitch, because that simple move had set her insides aflutter and she wanted nothing more than to obey. Still, she did her best to save face:

"Well, since you asked me so pretty like . . . "

During the brief interlude, Olivia had settled onto her bottom, legs curled to one side, head tilted onto the opposite shoulder, hair cascading down the arm she leaned on. Had Amanda been a painter, she would have needed to capture such a lovely picture of repose on canvas right then. Thank God she was just a dumb cop who had never painted anything other than fruit in high school art class.

She urged Olivia back onto her hands and knees, answering her quizzical look with a reassuring wink. Trust me.

When the captain was on all fours again, lush as the black cherries that grew in wild, pendulous clusters in the woods of Loganville, Amanda went exploring, just as she had loved to explore those same woods as a kid. The sights, the sounds, the smells—so new and alive to her keen, childish senses. She had no fear back then, climbing every tree, touching every leaf and pebble and flower with eager, nimble hands. She drank from the purest streams, tasted each ripe and flavorful berry till her tongue was numbed by them. Till she was practically drunk on warm, tart juices. Mmm, Georgia.

Olivia came so readily, all it took was a few thrusts. She grabbed for the headboard with one hand, her ring clanking on the wood, and steadied herself with the other as a powerful shudder rippled down her spine. Her back rolled like a wave for several moments, her face shrouded by the long, soft locks that tumbled forward from her downturned head. That was a shame—to miss the ecstasy on her beautiful face—but Amanda could see it, feel it, in every other inch of Olivia's body. She thrummed with it.

"So," Amanda said, after Olivia had discarded the bra and panties that were pooled around her hands and knees, then stretched out languorously on her stomach, "sixteen, huh? That ain't too bad."

Olivia smothered a loud burst of laughter in the pillow she was resting her cheek on. That sound was almost as delicious as the ones she had just made seconds before. She recovered quickly and glanced back as Amanda straddled her waist. "I'm going to start calling you One-Track Rollins. Tonight was supposed to be about you, y'know."

"This is about me." Amanda's fingers were mostly dry now, but she wiped the excess moisture onto the fitted sheet when Olivia faced the pillow again. They were on Amanda's side of the bed anyway, and she didn't mind. "I wanna hear about your first time. And in case you missed it, I like touching ya. So just hush your mouth and tell me how that pretty little flower of yours got plucked."

"I can't do both," Olivia said, but her voice had already dropped to a drowsy murmur as Amanda's hands worked at her muscles. Even after that big release, her neck and shoulders held so much tension, they felt poised to snap. It wasn't any wonder she got such terrible headaches. "But if you promise not to call it my flower anymore, I'll tell you."

"Deal."

"It was with Daniel, the boy I got engaged to . . ." Olivia drummed the fingers resting below her chin against the pillow several times. She brought them out and examined them, front and back. "Very, very briefly. My mom didn't allow me to date, so he and I saw each other on the sly the whole time we were together. It seemed like fun at the time."

Though Olivia couldn't see, Amanda nodded to show she was listening. And thinking. She tried to recall what she knew of this Daniel fella, other than his ill-fated proposal to a sixteen-year-old. Something about that had set off alarm bells for her in the past, but she couldn't remember why. Probably just her natural inclination towards jealousy when it came to anyone other than herself laying claim to the captain. Still, she had to ask, "How old was he, again?"

A slight pause, and then: "Older than twelve."

Huh.

"What about sixteen?" Amanda ventured, digging her thumbs into an especially tight spot in Olivia's right shoulder. She was much more cautious about the left, worrying she might somehow redamage the rotator cuff that had taken surgery and months of physical therapy to repair—and all thanks to her heifer ass trying to skydive off a cliff face, without a parachute. "Didn't you say he was in college? One of your mom's students?"

"Must you always be such a damn detective?" There was humor in Olivia's tone, but it had a sharp edge to it. (Amanda knew all about sharp edges.) She'd turned her face to the side, gazing askance without fully looking back. "What are you getting at?"

"Just askin', baby. Don't get all bent out of shape. These old bones can't take it." Amanda spidered her fingertips across Olivia's ribs, dodging out of the way when there came an amusing little squeak, a hand reaching around to flap uselessly at her.

"And if you ever want to get your hands on these 'old bones' of mine again, you better watch it, dimples."

"Dimples, eh? That's a new one." Amanda went on poking randomly at Olivia's ribs, snickering and drawing her hand back from each subsequent swat just in the nick of time. She was being an insufferable brat, but damned if it wasn't the most fun she'd had all day. (Besides the sex, of course.) She began to tickle Olivia in earnest, near the underarms and at the back of the neck, where the captain was so sensitive, even a puff of air could make her squirm. "Maybe I'll start calling you freckles. How'd you like that, Captain Freckleface, huh? Huh?"

Olivia was writhing now, threatening to buck Amanda off if she didn't clamp her knees a little tighter together. All those Wednesday and Thursday nights riding the mechanical bull at Roy's were finally paying off.

"Uh— uh . . . man . . . duh!" Olivia gasped, wriggling so desperately to get away from the feather-light strokes, she rolled onto her back. It was a successful relocation, but Amanda was still on top—and still tickling. "Suh-stop! I'm gonna pee my pants!"

"Funny, looked to me like you wadn't wearin' any, last time I checked," Amanda said, glancing back to confirm. Nope, not a stitch of clothing in sight, pants or otherwise. She eased up on the tickling, though. After that incident on her ninth birthday, she wouldn't subject anyone to the humiliation of wetting themselves. Even if it was rather hilarious to think of Captain Benson, the toughest and most gorgeous cop in New York City—Amanda had seen her take grown men to their knees, for God's sake—pissing the bed because of a few playful jabs.

Olivia needed a moment to recover, the residual flinches and giggles making her belly twitch beneath Amanda. Her breasts, as extravagantly beautiful as the rest of her, rose and fell in gentle undulations that once again reminded Amanda of waves. When the waves were even and serene, Olivia's breathing returned to normal, she gazed up with the same steadiness in her deep brown eyes, and said, "He was twenty-one. Almost twenty-two. A few months from graduating."

Sonuvabitch. Amanda had hoped for a different answer than that. Freshman, preferably. A very young, very immature freshman. Someone whose indiscretion with a high school student could be explained away by early matriculation, friends still in high school, or something other than what was unfolding—a clear case of statutory rape.

"Were you almost seventeen?" she asked, willing the answer to be yes. Maybe then she wouldn't have to hunt this Daniel guy down and beat his pervert ass for messing with a vulnerable teenage girl. No matter how strong and capable that girl had become since.

Olivia's gaze faltered then, traveling somewhere to the vicinity of Amanda's jugular notch. She reached up and stroked the little cleft with the pad of her finger, then slowly trailed the digit downward, between Amanda's breasts and on past the star-shaped scar from that damned Phillips head screwdriver. Pausing at the navel just an inch or two away, she circled her fingertip around it and the scar, capturing both inside the loops of an infinity symbol.

The captain was a pro at stalling, at distracting, but Amanda could wait it out. Knowing the two of them, they would be there for a good, long while, engaged in a silent battle of wills. Might as well keep busy in the meantime. She resumed the massage, focusing on Olivia's free hand and wrist. She liked plying at all the small bones and tendons underneath the delicate skin there; somehow it reminded her of rubbing dice or poker chips for good luck.

Becoming completely absorbed in the task, she was halfway up one forearm when Olivia surprised her by admitting, "I was fifteen when I met him. I remember because he took me out for my sweet sixteen. My mom was . . . " Though her shoulders were hardly visible beneath all that hair, the captain shrugged lightly. "Elsewhere."

Great, so while her underage daughter celebrated a milestone birthday and was preyed upon by an older guy, Serena had been out bar hopping, whoring, or both. Not that surprising, considering what Amanda knew of the unsmiling woman she had only ever seen in photographs. There was a strong physical resemblance to Olivia in those photos, despite the lighter hair and eyes, but none of her warmth or the beauty that went beyond the surface, straight to the heart. A beauty that was soul-deep.

"That was actually our first date," Olivia said thoughtfully, still swirling infinity on Amanda's skin. "My birthday. We'd hung out a few times in the Hudson U library before that. He saw me around campus, going to and from my mom's office. Thought I was a student at first."

"At first," Amanda stated, kneading the captain's subtly defined biceps. She was still hitting the gym whenever she could squeeze it in, and her finely sculpted muscles were a thing to behold. Amanda had always been attracted to a nice set of guns, and Olivia Benson packed some serious heat.

"Well, yes. I had filled out quite a bit by then. And I was tall. It would have been an easy mistake." Olivia frowned as she spoke. Her eyes were on Amanda's chest, but her gaze was directed inward. "Most people mistook me as older back then. I was used to spending time with teachers and college professors, having conversations about literature, women's rights, and the legal system. That's how I met Simone Bryce, the child advocacy lawyer I told you about. She thought I was in law school the first time we talked."

Amanda didn't doubt that Olivia had been mature beyond her years in those days. Taking care of an incompetent parent required you to grow up fast, hard, without a net. But while Amanda had spent her youth plunging headfirst into whatever chaos she could find, Olivia had learned to walk the wire, seldom overbalancing.

And Amanda had seen the pictures. By age sixteen, Olivia had a body most grown women would kill for. A bit coltish in the limbs, but the baby fat was virtually nonexistent and the hips and breasts were in full bloom. Her hair had been even thicker and darker than it was now.

Yeah, Amanda knew exactly what Daniel Almost-22 had been after, and it wasn't Olivia's sophisticated sixteen-year-old mind.

"What," Olivia said, when she caught Amanda eyeing her with skepticism.

"You say he didn't know you were that young at first . . . "

"That is what I said."

"But he knew he was taking you out for your sixteenth birthday, right?" Amanda felt the tension building in Olivia's smooth, graceful shoulders, even as she massaged them steadily. "And he still had sex with you, knowing you were underage?"

"It wasn't like that, Amanda. He wouldn't even date me until I was sixteen. And I pursued him, not the other way around." Olivia stopped circling Amanda's stomach and rotated her finger clockwise and counterclockwise in the air. When she started talking with her hands, it was a sure sign she meant business. "I was in my rebellious phase by that point, and I knew it would piss off my mother. She didn't want me dating anyone, let alone an older boy or one of her students."

That word again—boy. It wasn't like the captain to be so imprecise. And:

"I thought you kept it a secret from her," Amanda said, attempting a casual tone as she marched her fingertips to and fro along Olivia's neck and shoulders. She wasn't fooling anyone, least of all her eagle-eyed, sharp-eared captain. But it was worth a shot.

"He asked me to. And—" Olivia held up her index finger as soon as Amanda opened her mouth to speak. "—before you pounce on that one, he had a good reason. He was afraid Serena would try to get him kicked out of school. And he was right. That's exactly what she threatened to do when she found out he'd proposed."

_Good for her_, Amanda thought, but decided that one was better off kept to herself. Siding with Olivia's mother was about as effective as someone siding with Amanda's mother during a disagreement. It only added fuel to the fire. And there were already embers smoldering behind those autumn-brown eyes.

But try as she might, Amanda couldn't hold her tongue completely. Not while her captain, who under any other circumstances would be chomping at the bit to arrest Oh Danny Boy, blatantly ignored the facts of her own abuse.

"So, he sees you around and gets you interested in him by spending time with you," Amanda said, smoothing her hands along Olivia's upper chest without deviating lower. Now was not the time to disarm Olivia with sex. That was how Amanda got out of talking about _her_ issues. "Getting you to trust him. Making it romantic by telling you to wait. Talks you into hiding it from your mom. Takes you out when you're alone and hurtin' . . . "

The last part had been a guess, but Olivia didn't deny it. She pressed her lips together, avoiding eye contact.

"I bet he bought you gifts too, right? Flowers and cute little stuffed animals. Jewelry?" Amanda had reached the other biceps and she treated it with care, as if a softer touch might take away the sting of her words. "Sexy underwear for when you finally went all the way?"

"You make me sound like a whore," Olivia said flatly.

"Whoa, that's not—"

"Anyway, what's your point?" This time Olivia looked directly at Amanda, the embers in her eyes igniting into twin flames. Her skin almost felt warmer to the touch as the fire raged. "So, he bought me things. You buy me things. Flowers, stuffed animals, jewelry, _and_ sexy underwear, if I recall correctly."

God, she was stubborn.

Amanda stifled a frustrated sigh. This must be what other people felt like when they tried talking to her. Especially Olivia, who had never been anything other than patient and understanding with her, even when she was evasive, aloof, or flat-out mean in return. She took a deep breath and continued with the same tenderness as before.

"That's not the same thing, and you know it. You keep calling Daniel a boy, but that's not what he was. Twenty-two—"

"Twenty-one."

"_Almost_ twenty-two is a man. And you were a little girl—"

"I stopped being a little girl long before that," Olivia said in such a dull and lifeless tone, it startled Amanda into momentary silence. She knew the captain's childhood had been rough—hellish, even—but until now, it hadn't occurred to her that it might have been worse than she'd imagined. That maybe she didn't know the full story after all.

Noting the hesitation in Amanda's reply and in her hands, which had paused at the elbow, cupping it protectively, Olivia flashed a quick, cheerless smile. "I mean, I didn't _feel_ like one. I was taking care of a sloppy drunk. Kinda spoils the whole carefree childhood vibe, you know?"

"Well, regardless." Amanda hated to move on when Olivia was so obviously deflecting. She made a mental note to revisit the topic soon, preferably when they weren't both naked and discussing a different type of abuse. "At barely sixteen, you were just a kid. Mentally, emotionally, and legally. And I know you don't wanna hear this, but what he was doing . . . " She fretted her bottom lip and slid both hands down to Olivia's, holding it loosely. "Baby, that was grooming. He knew he'd get into trouble, so he made sure you wouldn't tell on him before he had sex with you. And when he did? _That _was statutory rape."

Of all the reactions Amanda had anticipated, boisterous laughter was not one of them. She would have been prepared to deal with anger or denial, maybe a few tears of acceptance, but bouncing around on Olivia's abdomen as it shuddered with peels of laughter—that, she didn't have a response for.

"What?" she asked, baffled.

"I'm sorry, it's just . . . " Olivia tried to suppress her amusement, only to dissolve into giggles all over again. She reached up to pat Amanda's cheek reassuringly as the outburst concluded with a final mirthful sigh. "For a second there, you sounded exactly like me. And I realized how all those teenage girls must feel when I tell them the same thing. Ironic, huh?"

Amanda didn't really think so, but she gave a vague nod nevertheless. "I reckon, yeah. But you're right to tell them that. And I'm right about this." She balanced Olivia's palm on top of her own, smoothing it flat, pinching lightly down the length of each finger and the wrist. The captain wasn't pulling away, which was a good sign. Her other hand lay gently, palm up, against Amanda's thigh. It looked like a small creature exposing its belly in surrender.

"My mother would've agreed with you," Olivia said, her previous good humor gone. For a while, she met Amanda's questioning gaze in silence. When she closed her eyes, it was hard to tell whether she was reacting to the massage or the confession: "She tried to have him charged with statutory rape. Dragged me down to the two-four. Literally. Had me by the—"

Olivia touched the side of her long, dark hair, running a fingertip across the braid that started at her temple and disappeared between her head and the pillow. She drew back suddenly, as if burned, and opened her eyes. "She made me tell them everything. It was humiliating. The age of consent laws were the same in those days, but they didn't take it seriously. Just a bunch of good ol' boys sitting around chewing the fat and smoking their Marlboros. They got one look at me, and their minds were made up." She snapped her fingers soundly, despite not using her dominant hand.

"The guy who took my statement asked the most ridiculous . . . did I always dress so provocatively? I was wearing my school uniform, for Christ's sake. He asked how many times Daniel and I'd had sex, what positions we used, if I ever went down on him." Olivia curled her lip in disgust at the memory. "Honestly, I think he was getting off on it. That whole experience was more traumatic than anything Daniel ever did to me. And it was all for nothing anyway. They didn't pursue it. Didn't want to 'disrupt the future of a bright, young college man.' Not for some little teenage slut who had asked for it."

Several parts of the story jumped out at Amanda as she listened: the admission, however roundabout, that Daniel had traumatized Olivia in some way; the reference to Daniel as a man, not a boy, even if it was a quotation; and the bitterness with which Olivia spoke of the cops' failure to do a damn thing about any of it. Amanda was deciding how best to address one—or all—of the discrepancies, when Olivia continued in a much more conversational tone.

"That's some of what got me thinking about becoming a cop, actually. Witnessing firsthand the incompetence, the misogyny. And after I found out what my mother had gone through . . . " Olivia balled her hand into a fist, then quickly unclenched it and tucked her fingers under Amanda's thigh. "Kind of became my crusade, I guess. I was so determined to make a difference."

Amanda lifted the hand she'd been massaging and kissed the knuckles. "You have, darlin'. You do."

"Sometimes I wonder if it's enough." The captain grazed her thumb back and forth in the crease between Amanda's chin and bottom lip. She smiled vaguely when Amanda dotted another kiss to her fingertip. "It doesn't change anything that happened. No matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to undo any of it."

"Any of it?" Amanda asked quietly, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. When Olivia offered these glimpses into her past, it was better not to interrupt too much; an occasional nudge usually sufficed. Other than that, she mostly needed someone to listen. And not judge.

**. . . **


	3. Naughts

**A/N:** TW for sexual assault. The next chapter will be the last. It's short and more of an epilogue, so I'll try to post it within the next couple of days. Kinda nervous about this one for various reasons, so maybe drop me a line if you like it.

* * *

**Chapter 3:** Naughts

**. . .**

Olivia gave a noncommittal hum and watched with interest, one eyebrow aloft, as Amanda got on all fours and shinnied down her body in reverse. When she knelt between Olivia's parted legs, the eyebrow went even higher.

"Don't get excited, I'm just gettin' comfy." Amanda draped herself half on the captain, half off, her hands folded on Olivia's abdomen, chin resting on top. She took the leg that hooked around one of her own as a sign of approval. "Keep going."

"Oh. Well, after the police did nothing, Serena took matters into her own hands. She tried to have Daniel kicked out of school, even though she promised not to if I broke off the engagement." Olivia fiddled with one of Amanda's braids, gliding the little fringe at the end across their skin like a paintbrush. She gave herself goosebumps, but Amanda barely felt it. "That didn't work, either. The dean wouldn't agree to it. But she gave Daniel such a hard time from then on, he transferred for his last semester. I never heard from him again.

"And I didn't even care. I didn't miss him or feel bad that his grades suffered, or that he had to start over someplace else. I was just pissed that he left me alone with her. He didn't fight for me, even though he supposedly loved me. Even though I let him—"

Stopping short, Olivia bit down on her bottom lip hard enough that a pale impression of teeth marks remained for a moment after. At once alert, Amanda perked her head up, her pulse quickening just the slightest. "Liv, what did he do to you?" she asked, a bit more forcefully than intended.

"He didn't rape me," Olivia stated in a matter-of-fact tone, so calm it was unnerving. She might have been talking about an everyday occurrence, as casual as she sounded: _I put cream in my coffee. I took the subway this morning. And oh yeah, he didn't rape me_.

It was one hell of a preface, Amanda would give her that. And it did nothing to instill confidence or hope that Daniel had been anything other than a dog who knowingly took advantage of an innocent young girl.

"Okay," Amanda drawled, hoping her growing apprehension wasn't too obvious. She rested her cheek on the back of her hand, gazing up attentively and caressing Olivia's side with her other hand. She needed the soothing contact just as much as the captain did, she found.

"The first time we . . . tried was on Valentine's Day."

Though no significance was placed on the date, Amanda heard it anyway—Valentine's Day fell exactly one week after Olivia's birthday. Daniel the Almost-22-Year-Old Dog hadn't wasted any time bedding his little sweet sixteen. Or trying to, whatever that meant.

"We went out for dinner. Nothing too fancy, but it was nice. Then back to his apartment, which was less nice. He shared it with a couple other college guys and none of them knew how to clean worth a damn." Olivia wrinkled up her nose cutely, despite her obvious disgust at the conditions she had witnessed.

The captain wasn't a priss, but she did like things clean and tidy. Amanda was familiar with the pigsties most college guys called home—whether from spending the night herself, or sweeping for evidence and praying she didn't come across a wayward sock or wad of Kleenex—and she had lost her virginity in a gnarly old van that smelled like weed, Doritos, and stale condoms. But she'd also grown up with Dean and Kim Rollins, two of the filthiest human beings on the planet, or at least in Loganville. No amount of slovenliness would surprise her. She could only imagine the shock Olivia must have gotten, stepping out of her neat two-bedroom apartment with Serena and into that wolf den.

"He did the whole sock-on-the-door shtick so we wouldn't be disturbed," Olivia said with a light laugh that was too fleeting to determine the sincerity of. "And I was still so inexperienced . . . I thought we'd watch a movie first, ease into it a little. But he was all over me the minute we walked into the apartment. I didn't really know how to tell him to slow down. Not back then. And part of me didn't want to, because it felt good to be that— that _wanted_, you know?"

"Yeah." Amanda nodded sadly, splaying her hand open on Olivia's upper abdomen. She could just make out the ribs beneath her fingertips. She wondered if Daniel had noticed how love- and food-starved his knockout of a girlfriend was, and had he cared? Probably not any more than Amanda's high school and college boyfriends had cared about her daddy issues and self-destructive behavior. "Yeah, I get ya."

"We moved into the bedroom pretty quickly. His bed was up really high, for some reason. I don't know what the hell he had under there." Olivia shrugged off the detail as superfluous, but her gaze remained distant, remembering. "He picked me up and set me on the edge like I was . . . a doll or something. Something pretty to look at and touch. Nobody had ever treated me that way. It seemed romantic. Sexy."

Amanda caught one of Olivia's gesturing hands and tucked it below her chin. She wished it were possible to hide all of the captain away like that, at least for a little while. Someplace safe and warm and far from the ugliness they saw, day in and day out. The ugliness they'd lived through.

"You were sixteen, baby," she said, pecking softly at Olivia's wrist, "of course it did."

"I was wearing this long, velvety red dress. Valentine's Day, right? It was off-the-shoulder with these little straps that went across. When he tried to scoot me farther back on the bed, it pulled on the dress and one of the straps snapped." Olivia continued talking with her other hand, tracing her finger along Amanda's shoulder to demonstrate where the broken strap had been. "It was completely by accident, but he apologized. Made some comment about his friends thinking he'd attacked me if they saw what he'd done to my dress. I didn't think it was very funny—I was actually really worried how I would explain it to my mom, since she'd just bought me the dress—but I could not stop laughing."

For some reason, that sounded familiar to Amanda. Then she remembered Olivia's bout of uncontrollable laughter from minutes earlier, as if the idea that she had been statutorily raped was both preposterous and hilarious.

"Well, eventually I stopped. Once our clothes came off. He got that dress off me in a flash, broken strap be damned, lemme tell ya." Olivia made a lickety-split whistle with her tongue and teeth, simultaneously hiking her thumb in the air. "Next thing I knew, he was on top of me and ready to go. It was all happening so damn fast.

"But he hadn't put on a condom yet. Thank God I knew enough to ask. He played dumb at first, like he didn't know what I meant when I asked if he 'had something.'" A faint blush colored Olivia's cheeks, and for a moment, she looked exactly as she must have as a sixteen-year-old kid, too embarrassed to say the word condom out loud. "So, I said, 'You know . . . protection?' He kind of laughed about it. Like I was being cute. But I wasn't. I was legitimately terrified I might get pregnant, and my mother would've—"

Olivia shook her head, rustling the pillow loudly; Amanda patted her on the hip, excusing her from finishing the thought. She needn't elaborate on what Serena Benson would have done. The woman had gone after her with a broken bottle for getting engaged. A pregnancy would have been catastrophic.

"I told him I did not want to get pregnant, but he kept trying. Teasing me, so I'd let him in. Well, first off he said he didn't have any condoms—"

"Bullshit," Amanda snapped, unable to hold back any longer. "Every twenty-two year old guy—"

"Twenty-one."

Amanda sighed and pushed herself up to assume a cross-legged pose between Olivia's knees. "Same diff. Babe, every _man_ I've ever known carries around at least a couple condoms at all times. It's more important than their license and registration. And a house full of guys? There were probably condoms sprinkling from the rafters like goddamn asbestos."

"Uh-huh." Olivia cast a slightly bemused look at Amanda and further down, to her own parted thighs. She drew her knees up and to the side until she could close them, crossed her ankles rather daintily, and folded both marvelously long legs behind her. She patted the space beside her, making room for Amanda to snuggle in. "Well, as you've so readily and repeatedly pointed out, my love, I was very young—and a virgin. I didn't know that about guys. I just assumed he was telling me the truth."

"Oh, Liv."

Olivia's expression was unreadable as Amanda stretched out beside her, propping up on one elbow for a better view of her dark eyes. "Anyhow, that sort of became my defense. That I might get pregnant if we did it without protection. I thought it would scare him off or at least slow him down, but he wasn't deterred. 'You won't get pregnant, I'll pull out,' he said—"

"Dear Lord," Amanda groaned.

"It was 1984. There was no Google to consult about the likelihood of pregnancy via this or that. You heard a rumor about sex in high school, you pretty much believed it until you'd done it yourself or asked a parent or someone about it. And I wasn't doing that." Olivia rolled onto her side and propped up on one elbow, mirroring Amanda's posture, head resting on her palm. "I was still too scared to risk it, though. But Daniel kept . . . persisting. And then it started to hurt. A lot. So, I—"

"Wait. Wait." Amanda called timeout, forming a capital T with her hands. "He was hurting you? What the hell was he doing?"

Snagging a corner of lip between her teeth, Olivia chewed apprehensively. "Well yeah, I mean, he was hard and rubbing himself between my legs. I don't think he meant to hurt me, just sort of coax me along."

"You mean he was trying to slip it in enough that you'd say, 'oh, what the hell,' and let him finish fucking you." Amanda stared at the other woman in disbelief, stunned that she was being so willfully blind to something so obvious. "Oh sorry, I mean finish raping you."

"He did not rape me," Olivia snapped, the fire back in her eyes. She jabbed her finger into the sliver of space between her and Amanda, pinning it to the bedspread the way she pointed to mugshots on the murder board at work. "We hadn't discussed what I was ready for ahead of time, so he couldn't have known I would change my mind because we didn't have a condom."

_We_. _I_. It never ceased to amaze Amanda how complicit Olivia felt in her own assaults. The captain blamed herself as much—if not more than—the people who had harmed her. She should have known not to follow Harris to the basement; she should have grabbed her gun when Lewis was in her apartment; she should have run screaming from Amelia's loft when she saw that mural. And now, she shouldn't have expected an older, more experienced man to follow the basic rules of sex etiquette and put on a damn condom when it was requested.

"But when you didn't consent, he kept pushing. Literally. And tried to talk his way in. At the very least, that's coercion." Amanda had softened her tone a little, trying not to rile Olivia any more than she already had. She wasn't letting this one go, though. Not until Olivia realized how unacceptable—and illegal—Daniel's so-called innocent behavior had been. "He was holding you down, hurting you. That's assault."

"I didn't say he held me down. He didn't use force that way." Olivia made both hands into fists, rolling them at the wrists. "My hands were free, I wasn't fighting him."

"You said he was on top of you," Amanda pointed out, wishing she hadn't already climbed off of Olivia. It would have been easier to demonstrate how much power and control the person on top had, whether exerting it or not, were she still perched there. "That means you were pinned. And you know damn well a woman doesn't have to fight for it to be rape. They're taught not to. Most of us just lie there and take it."

Shit. Amanda had let that "us" part slip. One glance at Olivia was all it took to confirm she'd heard it too. She reached over with the hand she wasn't leaning on and stroked Amanda's cheek, sadness in her pretty brown eyes. The fire was gone.

"I _was_ taught to fight, though," Olivia said gently, guiding Amanda's braids back over her shoulders, to be fondled and petted. She studied them absently for a moment, then slid off the bands that held them in place and began unpiecing both plaits a strand at a time. "One of the few things my mother did teach me about sex was how to say no to it. To fight and scream like hell if a man tried to lay a finger on me. She taught me good touch, bad touch before she taught me to tie my shoes and brush my own teeth."

"Yeah, but Liv, anybody can freeze up. How many women have you explained tonic immobility to? You were scared and—"

"It wasn't like that. He didn't hit me or threaten me—"

"But you were afraid of what he might do, weren't you? While he was on top of you, hurting you." (_Smelling like Jack Daniels, ripping your shirt open, saying no one would believe you. . ._) Amanda shoved the thoughts back down, picturing her brain like an overfull suitcase, the contents of which she had to stuff down, the lid of which she had to sit upon just to close. She dreaded what state the clothes would be in when the suitcase finally sprung open. "You thought he wasn't going to stop."

Olivia combed her fingers through the wavy strands of hair she had set loose about Amanda's shoulders. "Only for a second. And when he saw how frightened I was—that it was hurting—he told me he would stop."

"_Told_ you he would, or actually _did_?"

"He did. After a minute, he did." Olivia mulled it over for a moment, then gave a resolute nod.

"After a minute?" Amanda asked, hitting a shrill note at the end. "So, instead of stopping right away, he went on hurtin' ya just a little bit more because what he was doin' felt good to him."

No answer. Olivia wouldn't even look at her. Amanda ducked her head, putting herself directly in the captain's line of vision. When that didn't work, she waited in silence until Olivia finally met her eye. Defiant at first, but softening by degrees, until she looked as vulnerable as she must have to Daniel Almost-22.

Amanda didn't want to ask the next question, even though she'd asked it of countless other women over the years. Even though she was certain she already knew the answer. But she needed to hear it from Olivia's own mouth, otherwise she would always wonder. Wonder and stew, to the point of obsession. Not a good state of mind for an overprotective girlfriend with a gun.

"Liv, did he penetrate you at all?" she asked, managing not to wince at the word "penetrate"—at least not outwardly. It was so cold and impersonal, like a cavity search at intake. Olivia should only be treated with kind and gentle words, touches, love.

"I— I don't think so." Olivia bunched up her shoulders. It was supposed to be a shrug, but when she didn't relax the posture, she more resembled a turtle retreating into its shell than a woman who couldn't recall such a vital detail.

"What do you mean, you 'don't think so'?"

"It was a long time ago. I don't remember."

_Bullshit_, Amanda thought again, but refrained from repeating it out loud. Olivia forgot nothing, least of all a violation of this magnitude. She might misplace her reading glasses every five seconds, or wander around searching for the cell phone that was in her hand, but she did not lose track of being raped. "How can you not remember? Either he did or he didn't, there's no gray area here." She nudged Olivia's chin up with a tap from her finger. "So, did he?"

"I said I don't know." Olivia took Amanda lightly by the wrist, lowering her hand to the bed, but not letting go. "I was panicking, and you know how that affects memory. And I wasn't exactly down there with a tape measure at the time. The way it hurt, the way he pushed— it's possible there was some. If he did, it wasn't much. Not enough to count."

"Are you— are you hearing yourself right now?" Amanda asked in a voice so breathless she sounded awestruck. Olivia's disregard for her own safety, her own bodily integrity, was horrifying. She held herself to a completely different standard than any of the victims who walked into her squad room—and it was an impossibly high standard that no one, not even Olivia Margaret Benson, could attain. "Olivia, you know that's not how it works. There is no five second or five centimeter rule on rape. The law says 'any penetration, _no matter how slight_.' I love you, darlin', but you don't get to rewrite the laws to suit your narrative."

"Is that really what you think I'm trying to do?" Olivia asked, a wounded expression crossing her features. It was gone so fast, Amanda might have missed it, had she blinked.

"No," she said quickly, and gave Olivia's hair an apologetic stroke. "I think you just have a real hard time admitting when you've been hurt. And especially the ways in which you've been hurt. It's like . . . it's like ya think you should be impervious to that stuff, but you ain't. And that's not your fault, baby. Just means you're human, like the rest of us."

Olivia sighed and rested her cheek in Amanda's outstretched palm. "I don't like it."

"Yeah, it sucks." Amanda trailed her thumb along Olivia's cheek, once again admiring the fine bone structure underneath. _Fearfully and wonderfully made_, she thought, understanding the scripture for the first time since it had been drummed into her head at the age of ten. ("You are fearfully and wonderfully made, Mandy Jo, and don't you ever forget it." That had been her Grandmama Brooks' advice whenever Amanda was upset about being teased at school. Sweet, though ultimately unhelpful.) "But you'll always be a superhero to me, city girl. To a lot of people."

A wan attempt at a smile only succeeded in making Olivia look sadder. "Probably not if they knew . . . " Her voice caught and she swallowed hard before she could go on. "I was anything but heroic in that situation. When he finally did stop, it was because he suddenly 'remembered' he had a condom stashed away somewhere. He went and got it, and we tried again right away, but I was still too shaken up. I just couldn't get comfortable enough to let him in after that."

"'Course not. You'd just been sexually assaulted," Amanda said, brushing back the wispy hairs that clung to Olivia's forehead. She located the almost imperceptible scar that zigzagged from hairline to eyebrow above the captain's right eye—it was only visible in certain light and hardly detectable by touch—and traced it with her fingertip. She'd yet to inquire how Olivia got that scar, and something told her now was not the right time to do so.

"But we did other things. I . . . I gave him oral." Olivia grimaced as if she had gotten a taste of something nasty. She disliked fellatio, that much was clear from the way she had spoken about it in the past. And for good reason, considering her experiences with the sex act, which Amanda had never been particularly fond of, either. It was just a way to get the guy off and get out. Put your head down, turn your brain off, and open wide. In that moment when she'd prepared to suck off Declan Murphy, before he revealed his UC status, she was on autopilot. A kid giving her first blowjob wouldn't have that same defense.

"I don't think I was very good at it," Olivia said with a weak laugh. She silenced it quickly and glanced down at her hands, turning them front to back, as if inspecting their cleanliness. "He came, though. Got it all over my hands, just like . . . just like I watched happen to my mom."

Amanda gathered Olivia's hands into her own, chafing at the backs, wanting to wipe away those memories that were clearly still so vivid in the captain's mind. "That doesn't make you like her. None of it."

"Doesn't it?" Olivia gazed up, not with the anguish Amanda expected—the anguish so evident in her tone—but with absolute resignation. She had already made up her mind, and it would take a hell of a lot more than a single conversation and a few extra kisses to convince her otherwise. "I was so desperate for anything besides the emptiness, that numb and lonely feeling I had whenever she left me . . . I just took whatever I could get. He held me afterwards, and I actually felt grateful. He could have forced me, but he— he didn't and that was like . . . like love."

"That wasn't love, darlin'," Amanda said firmly, and tugged Olivia into a fierce, protective embrace. The captain nuzzled into the crook of her neck and shoulder, becoming very small in her arms. "He doesn't get a gold star because he failed to shove his dick all the way in."

"I know that. Now." Olivia was barely audible, her lips buried somewhere among Amanda's bare flesh and the bedcovers. She wrapped an arm and leg around Amanda, pulling her closer still. "But back then? I wanted— I _needed_ the attention. And he was patient. Understanding. I felt so bad for making him wait. We went out again a few days later, and on the way to his dorm, he stopped to buy condoms. Showed them to me so I would see what a good boy he was. And I did have sex with him that night. I had sex with him just about every time we were together after that."

That sounded like normal teenage behavior to Amanda, but she kept that part to herself. There was nothing normal or acceptable about the relationship Olivia had described. Manipulative, abusive, and traumatic—yes, without question. She had fled one abuser and ended up in the arms of another, and in typical Olivia fashion, she ignored her own needs in favor of someone else's. She "took it," the way she had tried to take being tied to a bed during sex because she thought it was what Amanda wanted. God, how long had this strong, beautiful, brilliant woman been putting herself aside and just taking it?

"When did he propose to you?" Amanda asked, gliding her hand through Olivia's hair, loving the sensation of the long, silky strands between her fingers. Loving _her_ with every touch.

"That spring. I'd gotten cast as Helena in my school's production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, so I was staying after class a lot. Breaking our dates a lot. I, um . . . I developed a crush on the drama teacher." Olivia peered upwards, and though Amanda couldn't see it, she felt it in the tickle of eyelashes against her throat. "He was even older than Daniel. Early thirties, I think. I was pretty crazy about him. He called me his little ingénue and told me I'd steal the show."

Amanda drew back enough to get a look at the captain's face. "Please don't tell me anything happened there, 'cause if he touched you too—"

"He didn't," Olivia said hurriedly, placing a soothing hand on Amanda's cheek. Her face had gone hot and undoubtedly flushed at the prospect of Olivia being taken advantage of by yet another man in her life. "I wanted him to. I basically threw myself at him. He wouldn't. Said he was flattered, but he didn't date students."

"Damn straight he didn't." Amanda breathed a sigh of relief (that was one less man she had to kill), then dropped a kiss to the top of Olivia's head.

"I was devastated. And embarrassed. I went running back to Daniel with some excuse about my mother not letting me leave the house. He said he knew a way to fix it so she wouldn't be able to keep us apart anymore. Then he proposed. And I saw a way out." Olivia gave a halfhearted shrug, discernible only by a small twinge in her shoulders. "I'm sure he just wanted to keep me in his bed. I was letting him do whatever he wanted by then."

That was probably the first accurate statement Olivia had made about her ex-fiancé since the story began. Amanda took it as a good sign—perhaps the captain wouldn't be so difficult to convince of Daniel's wrongdoing after all. But her hopefulness was diluted by a single drop of moisture, soft as rain against her skin. She looked down in alarm to find Olivia's eyes filled with tears, one already streaming at the corner, the other about to overflow, a delicate rivulet escaping across the bridge of her nose and dripping into the dark waves her cheek rested on. It was unsettling how silently she could cry. When Amanda's tears broke through, they were loud, messy, untameable. Olivia's tears were as effortless as breathing.

**. . .**


	4. Epilogue: Noughts

**A/N:** Last chapter, guys. It's short and sweet, but I hope y'all like it. Thank you so much for the lovely CH 3 reviews; I really needed those. And special thanks to my pals Amy and Jen for being there to listen during the writing and posting of this fic. Until next time, take it sleazy. ;P

* * *

**Epilogue:** Noughts

**. . .**

"Aw, baby." Amanda cradled the captain's face tenderly in her hands, kissing the tears away.

"I think what hurt more than any of it—more than that first time, more than my mother's reaction to the engagement, more than being forced to break it off—was finding out he didn't really care about me. That it was all for nothing." Olivia's eyes were closed as she spoke. She opened them now, the irises a shimmering golden brown, like pennies at the bottom of a wishing well. "I just couldn't figure out why none of them loved me."

Amanda held Olivia tight, murmuring apologies, sympathy, and love—she had so many years and so much neglect to make up for—until the tears were through. "I'm sorry those fools couldn't see how amazing you are," she said after a while, when Olivia's sniffles gave way to an occasional sigh. She leaned back to offer a gentle smile, a small wink. "But can't say I'm sorry things didn't work out for you and Daniel. His loss was my gain."

"You mean ya don't regret not becomin' Mandy Jo Boatwright?" Olivia asked in a twangy, B-movie version of a Southern drawl, the faintest of smirks on her pretty lips. She was going to be okay. Never unscathed, forever a little bruised—but still the strongest person Amanda had ever known.

Still the love of her life.

"Hell no. Can you see me waddling around the trailer park, barefoot and pregnant, with my ten other Boatwright babies caterwauling and nippin' at my heels?" Amanda made an exasperated sound, as if the mere notion was too much to bear, and let her head plop onto the pillow. Her theatrics drew a chuckle from Olivia. Seeing a chance to make her move, she added casually, "What'd you say your last name woulda been if you and Daniel got hitched?"

"Mc—" Olivia caught herself in the nick of time, narrowing her eyes and poking lightly at the center of Amanda's cheek. "Nice try, Detective Dimples. He's long gone. I haven't kept tabs on him, and you're not going to, either. It's not worth it. Got me?"

Amanda donned her most innocent expression, which she had to admit was pretty damn good, with the big blue eyes, the fair hair, and the dimple that seldom let her down—Jesse used it on her sometimes, and it was almost impossible to resist. "Mm-hmm," she agreed, nodding and smiling.

Of course she had no intention of just letting it go. People would be surprised how much a dedicated cop could find out with just a handful of details (Daniel McSomething, Hudson University senior in 1984, born 1962, statutory rapist). And Amanda Rollins was very dedicated to her captain.

"Amanda."

"What? I'm not going to walk up and kneecap the guy at his front door." Amanda pretended to fire a finger gun into the air. No, she wouldn't aim for his kneecap. Something a little higher, though? Yer damn straight. "I can be subtle. I'll just put the fear of God into him from afar—"

"No. Absolutely not." Olivia covered the muzzle of Amanda's finger gun with her hand, a solemn expression on her face. "Promise me you won't do that. It's over and done with. I've moved on and so should you."

That might very well be true, but moving on had never been Amanda's strong suit. At least not when it came to protecting someone she loved. She held onto Olivia's hand, resting it securely in the groove of her hip. "Okay, but can you do me a favor and admit you know what he did to you was wrong? And illegal."

Olivia heaved a sigh, her breasts and belly flush with Amanda's, rocking her slightly. "What good will it do? It was nothing, and if I make it into something . . . then it's just another trauma I have to claim and process and recover from. What's that bring me to, three rapes now? I've lost track. Four sexual assaults? Five if you count Amelia. Although, technically I guess that was just frottage, and it was the most action I'd had in over a year, so I should probably be grateful."

The captain was spiraling—Amanda felt it in every muscle of her powerful, athletic frame; heard it in her steadily rising pitch. Olivia had spent the majority of her life fighting not to become a victim, but time and again, that was the hand life dealt her. If Amanda could see it, Olivia definitely could as well. Accepting it was a whole other story.

"Hey. Don't say that." Amanda tucked a lock of dark hair behind Olivia's ear, the way Olivia did to her when their positions were reversed. "You didn't deserve any of that. Not her or Daniel or any of the others. And I'm so sorry those things happened to you, Liv. But you know as well as I do that if you wanna move on, you have to acknowledge the trauma. It's like . . . it's like what happened to me in Atlanta. Eventually you gotta deal with it, 'less you want it to eat you alive."

"Have you?" Olivia asked, earnest brown eyes searching Amanda's face.

"Have I what?"

"Dealt with what happened in Atlanta."

Well, that one had turned right around and bit her in the ass. Amanda avoided the topic of Atlanta—of Patton—as much as possible so she wouldn't have to answer that very question. Most of the time, she did feel like she had dealt with it. The Rape. (That was how she thought of it, in all caps. The Bible, The End, The Rape in Atlanta.) But then something would come along, such as Olivia's story about Daniel, which rang eerily similar to her encounter with Patton, and the applecart was upset all over again.

She would never get justice for what the former Deputy Chief had done to her, anymore than Olivia would get justice from any of her abusers, each of whom were long dead. Except for maybe one . . .

"Yeah, baby, I got it under control," Amanda said, and kissed Olivia squarely on the forehead. "I'm all about the dealing."

"Hmm."

"You wanna talk about your thing some more? Was that before or after you found out about your mama's assault?" Amanda wasn't sure why that seemed so significant, but she had been curious. In a way, she almost understood Serena's extreme response to the relationship between her daughter and her student. Not the abuse that followed—that was inexcusable. But it must have been a kick in the teeth for the woman to realize she had driven her only child, wanted or not, into the arms of a predator.

"Before. She didn't tell me about that until one of our arguments after she ran him out of school." Olivia fell into pensive silence for several moments, then broke it with a sharp intake of breath and dismissive shake of her head. "I don't want to talk about that. Or any of it. Let's just forget about my stuff for a while. Tell me more about the Boatwright boys. Memphis still drives that van around, I bet."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Amanda said, and though filled with guilt at the realization, a small part of her was glad for the change of topic. "Last I heard, he'd converted it into an ice cream truck. When I finally get ya down to Loganville, we'll look him up and I'll buy you a dilly bar."

Olivia scrunched her nose. "Hard pass."

They spent the next half hour laughing much too loudly at each other's jokes, and the rest of the night clinging much too tightly in each other's embrace.

**. . . **

**THE END**


End file.
